


When tears refuse to fall

by Ahiku



Category: Eyewitness (US TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Intoxication, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-24 00:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13799328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahiku/pseuds/Ahiku
Summary: “Philip,” she said, her voice broken, and Philip immediately knew that something was off. “There’s something I need to tell you.”An anxious expression entered his dull and bloodshot eyes when he felt Gabe’s sturdy hand on his shoulder as well – his grip gentle yet firm, reassuring. He wanted to shake both of them off, but the sinking feeling in his stomach left him paralyzed with fear.“Your mom is dead.”





	When tears refuse to fall

**Author's Note:**

> This story is about Philip dealing with his mom's death. 
> 
> Please don't read if you're easily triggered by topics like death, grief, PTSD, intoxicated, underaged characters and otherwise self-harmful behavior. 
> 
> There will be a "happy", or maybe rather hopeful ending, though. 
> 
> The fanarts are also made by me. You can find more on my twitter or tumblr account (ahikuboruchi).
> 
> And last but not least - English is not my native language, so bear with me, please.

Moving forward from happy memories is easy. We unconsciously incorporate those precious moments into our souls. Unfortunately, we don’t always appreciate and value them enough, so we always wish for them as they stand beyond our reach, right at the other end of our outstretched fingers.

Moving forward from moments of pain, on the other hand, is difficult. Grief leaves an empty void in the pit of our souls, a never-ending abyss of sadness, anger, and sorrow that has enough power to shatter our complete universe. It takes time and effort to weave sad and painful memories into our beings.

They even might change us, but we have to move on nevertheless...

Philip knew that he was incredibly lucky. He’d survived Ryan Kane’s coldblooded manhunt for Lukas and him with no more than a good fright and a small bump on his head from where he was hit with the handle of Kane’s gun.

He was fine, though. It barely hurt anymore. And most importantly, he was alive.

They were alive.

Lukas’s reopened gunshot wound was as good as can be expected under the circumstances. He’d be fine as well; his body just needed some time to heal . And now, that they were both safe, and Lukas was lying underneath a couple of warm hospital blankets, he had all the time in the world to give his body some well-deserved and necessary rest.

It was time to move on. Their ordeal was finally over.

Philip just didn’t know yet that his next ordeal was just about to begin... .

He found himself at the kitchen table of the Caldwell farm, staring into a steaming cup of tea he had no appetite for. He actually wanted to stay with Lukas at the hospital, even if all he could do was sitting next to him and watching him sleep. He just wanted to make sure Lukas was fine, he needed this kind of reassurance more than everything else right now...

_Lukas is safe. We’re both safe._

However, Helen and Gabe had insisted that Philip should come home with them, reasoning that he wasn’t allowed to stay beyond visiting hours anyway. They also wanted him to give Lukas and his dad some space to recover and reconcile. And Philip needed some time for himself, too.

It was hard to leave Lukas, even though Philip knew that his foster parents were right. Now that all the tension had evaporated, he felt a heavy physical and mental weariness that weighed him down like lead. So, all he wished to do was to take a hot shower and then hide in his room, curl up under his blankets and never come out again...

Philip closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

_We’re safe. Kane is dead. We’re safe._

_We’re safe._

Completely lost in his mind, Philip startled as slender, freckled fingers suddenly shoved his teacup aside. Perplexed, he looked up as Helen reached for his hand. His first thought was to pull his arm away, but he didn’t. They’d done this before – holding hands. Just a couple hours ago. It was soothing. It was fine.

“Philip,” she said, her voice broken, and Philip immediately knew that something was off. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

An anxious expression entered his dull and bloodshot eyes when he felt Gabe’s sturdy hand on his shoulder as well – his grip gentle yet firm, reassuring. He wanted to shake both of them off, but the sinking feeling in his stomach left him paralyzed with fear.

“Your mom is dead.”

The silence that followed Helen’s words was so loud it pounded against Philip’s ears. His body grew tense, and something in his eyes shattered into thousands of tiny pieces, but yet he couldn’t help the lopsided grin that spread on his face. “What?” he blurted out, unbelieving, shaking his head. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“I’m not kidding, Philip,” Helen said soberly. “She’s been killed.”

Disbelief painted Philip’s eyes. He understood the words, but not their meaning. His mind’s self-defense mechanisms to protect his psyche set in, leaving him caught in a vortex of denial and despair.

Why would she say that? _Why would she say that?_

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“No,” Philip said, resolutely, shaking his head. “No, no, no, no, no! She’s fine. When I visited her at the rehab center, she was fine.”

Helen also shook her head, her expression mournful. At the same moment, Gabe tightened his hold around Philip’s trembling shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Philip,” he breathed, his voice quivering ever so slightly. He swallowed audibly before he continued speaking in such a painfully clear and final way Philip’s heart sank. “I really don’t know what to say. Just know that we’ll always be here for you.”

“No,” Philip repeated once again, but it was a rather weak attempt of protest. Deep inside, he already knew that Helen and Gabe were telling him the cruel truth about his mother. He knew that they’d never joke about such a serious topic, especially not after all they’ve been through within the last few weeks and hours. He also knew that the hard parts of the sheriff job entailed delivering death messages. Helen definitely was not one for sugarcoating the truth, and she would never use euphemisms to give someone false hope. She was not cruel. Just factual.

It was not her fault that Philip’s mind tried to hide from these gruesome facts. Throughout his young life, Philip had been through so many horrifying things that his defense and coping mechanisms were always on high alert. When his emotions were numbed, it was easy to break through the waves of pain.

Sadness, grief, loneliness, anger, or fear had always been buried deep inside of him. He couldn’t afford any weakness. He needed to take care of his mother.

But now she was gone.

She was gone.

She was dead...

She wouldn’t come back. And he’d never see her again...

The desolation he had pushed down every day, just so he could survive for her, abruptly swallowed him like a black hole devouring a star.

Desperately, he glanced from Helen to Gabe, and back to Helen. When he saw the depth of the pain that showed on their faces, he finally understood that this moment was reality.

And it was more than he could bear.

The apocalypse hit Philip straight in the face, making him feel as if the ground fell out from underneath his feet. A small part of his soul was still hoping that maybe once he’d woken up, all of this would be a bad dream.

But it wasn’t.

It wasn’t.

Suddenly, all sounds were muted out, except for a high-pitched whistle that filled his ears like the asystole on a hospital monitor. It triggered something deep inside him and exposed the empty void that he had continually tried to deny. His breath quickened. The palms of his hands got sweaty, and his heart began to beat even faster. A piercing, strangled sob welled up in his throat. All the emptiness and longing he’d felt for such a long time, surged forth and threatened to choke him.

“No... Not my mom...not my mom...” he slurred. His breaths were coming in quick, shallow gasps, so he desperately fought to loosen the vise clamping around his lungs. His hands shook, and his fingers spasmed as he tried to grab his throat, but all he did was to scratch his skin.

He barely noticed Helen getting up from the table, barely heard the chair legs squeaking loudly in protest as they scraped across the kitchen floor.

Gabe was rubbing his back, his salt-n-pepper brows drawn close in concern as he exchanged a worried look with his wife. “Shhhhh, it’s okay, Philip. Breathe slowly. Relax,” he said, trying to sound as calm as possible.

“You’re having a panic attack,” Helen chimed in while she circled the table to stand beside her foster child. “This is not life-threatening. I know this must be really scary for you, but you’ll be fine. Just listen to Gabe, okay?” she said softly, letting let her fingers run through Philip’s thick chestnut curls.

“Right, just listen to my voice,” Gabe agreed. “Put your head down.” He cradled the back of Philip’s head gently, coaxing him forward. “Purse your lips. And now breathe in and out. In and out. We’re here with you, Philip. We’re not gonna leave you. In and out...”

Gabe’s rich sounding voice, and the gentle, warm hands on Philip’s back gradually began to dispel the suffocating cloud of distress that was enveloping him. Philip closed his eyes as he carefully breathed in and out, in and out.

In and out.

° ° °

Philip woke up in the middle of the night, haunted by surreal and distorted nightmares of the events leading up to his mother’s untimely death. Once again he gasped for air, his hands fisting in the quilt until his knuckles turned white.

The old-fashioned alarm clock on Philip’s nightstand ticked quietly.

_Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. In, out. In, out._

The monotonous sound calmed him down a bit, but it still took him a moment to come back to the real world, back to himself.

_I’m safe. I’m in my room. I’m safe_ , he told himself, again and again. _I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m in my room. In my bed. I’m safe. Lukas is safe. He’s safe in the hospital..._

Taking deep breaths, he desperately tried to gain control of his emotional onslaught, but soon his spinning thoughts raced a million miles per second.

_But my mom... My mom is dead. My mom is gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone..._

_She just wanted to get better. We wanted to live together again. But now she’s gone..._

Unbearable pain exploded in his chest like a cluster bomb. His heart ached, and heavy nausea spread in the pit of his stomach.

_She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone..._

_She’s gone, even though she promised to get better . I’ve believed her._

Philip had always believed in the promises she couldn’t keep.

Disappointment, frustration, and anger boiled up inside him, spreading through his veins like acrid venom.

_She loved me. She loved me so much. But she loved her drugs more than me_ , he thought bitterly. Agitated, he grabbed his bangs and pulled hard. His brain felt like it was wired with electricity; his stomach churned as if someone had punched him in the solar plexus with all might.

_No._

_No. No. No._

_Think rational, goddammit. Think rational._

_Stop being mad at her. She just wanted to get better. For the both of us. She really wanted to get better..._

_But now she’s gone. She’s gone..._

_It wasn’t her fault. She was ill. And she was killed. It was not her fault._

_It was mine._

Once that thought set in, an overpowering wave of guilt hit him like a road train, crushing him, wrecking him, destroying him. A strangled sob left his throat as violent shivers overtook his body.

_It was mine. It was my fault._

_I’ve betrayed her._

He felt sick. So sick... 

If only he had concealed what he knew... 

_I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I’m sorry, mom. I couldn’t save you._

_I’ve betrayed you..._

_I’m sorry._

_She’s dead._

_She’s gone. She’s gone._

_Mom..._

_Lukas..._

_Dead. Dead._

_Forgive me._

_I’m sorry._

_It’s my fault._

_No, no, no, no, no, no._

Philip couldn’t stop his wayward thoughts. They were like a bush fire – raging and wild, changing direction whenever they pleased. He was pacing around in his room like a caged animal, but it didn’t help. His restlessness only grew until it forced him out of his room, out of his foster parent’s house.

He ran and ran through the night. But no matter how far his trembling legs carried him, he couldn’t escape himself...

° ° °

Solid wood splintered as it hit metal, the dull noise echoing through the crisp morning air.

Flakes of blue paint sloughed off the abandoned car.

Glass shattered, bursting into millions of crystal-like pieces.

The heavy wooden baseball bat blistered his palms. His shoulders ached, but that didn’t stop him from wheeling back and lunging out again. The bat hit the hood, the fender, and the headlights, sending scrap metal and shards of glass flying. They left bloody cuts and scratches on the soft skin of his cheeks, his bare arms, and only boxer-short-clad legs. Then, they littered the ground to find a muddy grave next to a broken vodka bottle Philip had stolen from Gabe’s alcohol cabinet.

Philip squinted, his head pounded, he felt dizzy and nauseated. Everything hurt. Everything hurt so, so much. But it was no match for the constant anger, pain and sadness that scrolled through his mind like a news ticker, making it impossible to focus on what was happening directly in front of him.

He neither noticed that the bat was suddenly gone, nor the strong hands on his shoulders that turned him around to face his foster father. His dull eyes looked right through Gabe, who urgently tried to shake life back into him.

“Philip!” Gabe yelled, voice sick with worry and exhaustion. “For Christ’s sake, Philip! Come to your senses!”

After noticing that their foster kid had sneaked out in the middle of the night, Helen and Gabe were besides themselves with concern. They’d immediately called out Tony so they could split up to systematically search all the places Philip would usually go to.

“You can’t just run away without telling us anything. Especially not in the middle of the night, Philip,” Gabe scolded his foster child. They’d put him to bed after his panic attack, and he’d quickly fallen asleep. The events of this interminably long, terrifying and tragic day had weighed all of them down with a bone-deep weariness.

“Shorry,” Philip slurred. His face was pale and drawn, his mouth firmed. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he averted his eyes, unable to look at his foster father. “I just – I...” He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, but no words came out. His entire being screamed sadness, regret and misery. There was so much vulnerability, so much despair showing on his face, Gabe thought he’d never get to the bottom of it.

Gabe’s actually justified anger about his foster son’s inconsiderate actions suddenly evaporated like a cloud of steam. He sighed deeply and cupped his hand around Philip’s neck to pull him into his arms.

Philip tensed and drew a sharp breath. He was so startled by the embrace that Gabe felt a pang of guilt in his chest. He should have done this way sooner...

Philip was just a boy. A soft, sweet and loyal boy who just wanted to be happy and loved, but who couldn’t find his place in the world. Instead, he’d seen more pain and darkness in the short span of his life than most others combined in their entire lifetimes. What was supposed to be a fresh chance to start over in an idyllic small town, just turned into another hell of loneliness for the boy. Apart from Gabe, none of the narrow-minded people in Tivoli had treated Philip kindly – sadly enough not even his own foster mother.

Gabe knew that he and Helen had failed him. They should’ve done more to make him feel wanted, welcome and loved...

“Just wake us up next time. No matter how late it is... Wake us up when you’re not feeling well, or when you’re upset, or when you just need someone to talk to,” he whispered softly against the softness of Philip’s hair as he held him as close as possible for a long moment. “That’s what we’re here for, kid. You don’t need to go through this alone.”

He felt Philip’s body gradually relax, his tenseness eventually decreasing to a minimum. After a while, though, he started to shiver so violently even his teeth chattered.

“S-Shorry,” Philip slurred against Gabe’s shoulder, his fists clenching the back of Gabe’s plaid shirt so tight his knuckles turned white. “ Ah’m shorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Philip shook his head, tickling Gabe’s neck with his hair. More and more mumbled apologies left his trembling lips like an endless litany, his alcohol-induced prayers almost unintelligible, and yet so distressed that they broke Gabe’s heart.

He felt wetness on his shoulder, and thought that Philip was crying; but as he gently broke away from their hug to look at him, Philip’s eyes were strangely dry. Instead, small rivulets of blood trickled down from a long scratch on his cheek.

Fortunately, the majority of the cuts and scratches on Philip’s face, arms, shins and ankles seemed to be shallow and just a little red and puffy around the edges. As far as Gabe could tell, he wouldn’t need any stitches. However, despite their shallowness, he was sure that Philip’s wounds stung fiercely.

“This must hurt, son,” he said as he wrapped his arms around Philip’s shoulders, carefully guiding him downhill, following the beaten path in the dying, yellow grass until they reached the dirt road.

“Whaa?” Philip asked as he stumbled along, his dark eyes wide and unfocused. “Hurt? You ’kay?”

“Jesus. You’re wasted,” Gabe replied, out of breath by dragging Philip along through the mud.

“Hmm? I’m not...” Philip mumbled, his face greenish as his head rolled from side to side. Gabe leaned him against the car, then opened the trunk to get a blanket, which he carefully wrapped around Philip’s shoulders.

“Of course not, Philip,” Gabe said softly, making sure Philip was warm and at least halfway comfortable, before he maneuvered him into the passenger seat of his jeep. Philip flopped against the seat back, and lolled his head toward the window. His dark lashes looked like elegant strokes of an ink pen against the alcohol-induced rosy blush of his cheeks. Gabe touched his slightly damp chestnut hair, brushing one of the soft curls back from his face and tucking it behind his ear, before he fastened the seatbelt around Philip’s waist. “You’re good to go now. Let’s get you home.”

He slammed the door shut and walked around to the driver’s seat. Before he got into the car, he pulled out his smartphone to call Helen. She picked up right after the first ring.

“Please tell me you’ve found him,” her worry-filled voice echoed through the device, not even giving her husband a single chance to open his mouth.

“I’ve found him,” Gabe told her eventually, and heard her breath a sigh of relief. “But he’s doing badly.”

It was silent for a moment, save for the road noises Gabe could hear in the background. Then the turn signal of Helen’s jeep started to tick faintly, and her voice sounded through the speaker of the phone again. “Is he hurt?”

“Yes. He’s slightly injured and completely wasted,” Gabe explained. “I’ll bring him home now. Please come too. Don’t go back to the station. He needs you.”

Helen sighed. “We both know I’m not the one he needs right now.”

The person Philip needed and wanted most was dead.

Helen was afraid Philip might think that she wanted to take advantage of the situation and replace his mother. She didn’t want to cause him anymore pain, so she wasn’t sure if her presence would do him any good.

The initial tinge of distrust that had always been hanging over them like the sword of Damocles had just recently disappeared. Everything was still so fresh and raw, and they still had to slowly get to know each other.

“He needs you as a friend, Helen. He needs to be cared for,” Gabe reasoned calmly. “And we’re all he has left. He needs us. Both of us.”

“I’m on my way.”

° ° °

Golden rays of early afternoon sunlight broke through the low clouds which had hidden the sky since dawn, and fell through the half closed shutters of Helen and Gabe’s living room.

Philip groaned.

He raised a shaky hand to shield his tired eyes from the dazzling sun, before he groaned again. His head pounded relentlessly, his skin was stinging, and nausea surged in brutal waves through his entire being.

Philip covered his eyes with his palms as he tried to recall his memories of the last few hours. He vaguely remembered throwing up bile and foam at the roadside until he was dry-heaving on his hands and knees. The bitter taste still lingered on his tongue, explaining why his throat was on fire.

However, he also remembered Gabe’s soft voice, and the warm hand on his back. Gentle. Reassuring. Calming.

“Ah, he’s awake,” Philip heard Helen say. She walked across the living room and kneeled down in front of the couch. Her small hand reached up to stroke his dark curls in a calming manner, and yet it made him flinch.

“Sorry,” Philip mumbled, trying to relax in her touch. He knew she meant well. She was just looking out for him.

“It’s alright.”

Helen didn’t seem bothered by his repulsing reaction, and if she was, she didn’t let it show. She looked up as Gabe entered the room. He placed a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers onto the coffee table.

Philip sat up, grabbed the glass and took a sip of the cool liquid, sighing in relief once it moistened his burning throat. Then he gulped down the rest like he hadn’t drunk in days, completely ignoring the pills. He wasn’t afraid of becoming addicted to them, but he had a lot of cast-iron reasons not to take any kinds of drugs. He preferred to feel the pain – it was his penance, but it also let him know that he was still alive.

“We need to talk,” Helen put it bluntly.

Philip turned pale. He remembered the last few hours only vaguely, like a half-faded dream looming in the distance.

“Helen...” Gabe muttered, admonishing her.

“Are you gonna send me away?” Philip asked. He tried to hide his vulnerability, but his voice broke nevertheless. Helen and Gabe exchanged a worried look with each other. Gabe opened his mouth to object, but Philip quickly continued and said, “I’m sorry. For everything I’ve done. For lying. For keeping secrets. For stealing...”

His doe eyes were downcast, the dark fringe that fell in his face incapable of concealing the guilt in them.

“I’ll pay for the vodka. I promise I’ll make up for it.”

Once again, Gabe opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, but his words failed to come. He was completely bewildered.

“It’s alright, Philip,” Helen stepped in. It was the first time she’d ever seen her husband speechless. “You don’t need to pay for anything. We know you’re sorry.” She was still sitting in front of the couch and covered his hands with her own as she looked up at her foster child. Intense olive green eyes met a heavy swirl of chocolate brown. “That’s not what we want to talk about with you.”

“So you won’t send me away?”

“Of course not, Philip,” Gabe said gently.

“Is something wrong with Lukas?” Philip asked anxiously, sitting up straighter. Every single muscle in his body tightened, and he began to shake again. His breath grew quicker, agitated, and he felt his stomach clenching. He couldn’t handle the thought of any more terrible news, but somehow he had a feeling that was exactly what he was about to hear...

“Don’t worry. He’s alright,” Helen said, immediately setting Philip’s mind at rest. “At the moment we’re more worried about you.”

“About me? But I’m fine,” Philip said reflexively.

“You’re not fine, Philip,” Gabe intervened. “You know, it’s okay to feel angry and sad.”

“As long as you don’t hurt anyone, including yourself,” Helen added and pointed at Philip’s patched up cuts and sores.

“I,” Philip began, shaking his head slightly. “I didn’t do it on purpose.” Now that he thought about it, he realized that he’d had a total blackout. For a moment, he’d become a machine, tireless and driven by the urge to destroy, to rip apart the world and shred it to the tiniest of pieces. With his bare hands. With his teeth. Shard by broken shard, like his shattered heart... “I just – I feel like everything is out of control.”

His grief, sadness and anger were overwhelming and all-consuming. It made his facade of self-defense crumple like a bombed out building – along with his ability to control and hide his true emotions.

“Because it **is** out of control, Philip,” Gabe said sympathetically. “You have every right to feel sad and angry.”

“I don’t wanna be angry,” Philip whispered hoarsely. He put his head in his hands and breathed deeply, desperately trying to hold back the blackness that once again built up deep inside him. Guilt spread into every cell in his body, causing another rending ache that tore through his chest like an all-devouring wildfire.

“Anger is a normal response to grief,” Gabe explained, but Philip just shook his head.

“No. No. It’s not. No,” he muttered. “I... how can I...” He swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words even though eloquence was usually his forte. “I can’t be angry at someone who is...” His breath hitched. “At someone who’s dead.”

Gabe shared another teary-eyed glance with Helen, both taken aback and equally at a loss of words. But Philip needed them to say something. He needed them to make it better.

So Gabe cleared his voice, before he finally spoke. “It’s okay to feel angry at her, Philip,” he said softly. “That doesn’t mean you don’t love her.”

“She just wanted to get better...” Philip breathed, his voice raw and small. So small. “She was doing so well. She promised me she’d get better...”

“We know,” Helen cooed and took Philip’s hand once again, squeezing it gently. “We know, kid. We know.”

° ° °

Cerulean eyes opened slowly, fluttering as they tried to adjust to the bright, artificial ceiling light. The distinctive smell of disinfectant prickled Lukas’s nose as the silence of his drug-induced slumber was replaced by hospital sounds: footsteps, trolleys, people’s voices, hums and beeps of machines, the ringing of a telephone far away. Lukas’s gaze focused on the crisp white hospital sheets, the IV in his arm, the uncomfortable looking gray chairs, and Philip.

_Philip._

For the past two or three days, Lukas had been caught in the place between sleep and wakefulness. He’d seen people moving in blurry fast motion – nurses, doctors, his dad, Helen, Rose.

Talking. Checking in on him. Bringing food. Changing his IV bags.

Talking, talking, talking.

Their mouths had kept moving and moving, their hands touching, and probing, and caressing, but it had been too much, beyond his ability to understand. Lukas had barely been able to keep his eyes open, much less process all those noises and words.

All he wanted was Philip.

_Philip, Philip, Philip._

He knew Kane was dead. And Philip was alive. His father had told him. The doctors and nurses had told him. Everyone had told him, again and again.

Everyone but Philip.

So Lukas had kept waiting for him to come.

“Hey,” he breathed. His voice was rough, holding the rust of disuse. Nevertheless, a smile lit up on his face as he squeezed Philip’s hand. His skin felt weird, dehydrated perhaps, and Lukas was shocked to see that both of Philip’s hands were covered in a variety of differently shaped and sized band-aids.

“Hey,” Philip answered quietly. He returned the smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Something felt off – very off – but Lukas couldn’t tell what it was. The uncertainty gave him a really bad feeling which twisted around in the pit of his stomach. It made his heart beat faster, which immediately showed on his monitoring screen.

Worry was written all over Philip’s face as he looked at the beeping machine. “You okay?” he asked, then raised Lukas’s hand to kiss the back of it softly. “Calm down. It’s just me. Just me. And your dad knows about us...”

“That’s not it.” Lukas shook his head and brushed Philip’s cheek with the back of his hand. Then he frowned. “Where do all these cuts in your face come from, Philip? What has h-h-he,” he drew a deep breath and swallowed hard before continuing. “K-Kane. What has he done to you?”

Bo had told him Philip was unharmed. He didn’t look unharmed, though.

And Lukas was sure that this entire odyssey had left its mark on Philip’s soul – a deep, invisible scar which would never fade. He must have been scared to death.

“Are you okay?” Lukas asked hopefully as he squeezed the cold hand in his own.

Philip slowly shook his head. “No,” he exhaled, mouthing the barely audible word in a whisper. His eyes glistened, but tears still refused to fall.

“He killed my mom, Lukas.”

Cerulean eyes widened in horror and disbelief. Thin, exsanguinated lips stood agape as his dark eyebrows wandered high up Lukas’s forehead.

“What?” he asked, his voice shaky and tinged with despair.

“Helen said he staged it as an H overdose,” Philip explained matter-of-factly, but the quiver in his chin and the devastated look in his usually so beautiful eyes betrayed his pain and sadness.

Lukas chest hurt – but not because of his injury. There was a deeper pain, hidden away in his soul, and it desperately tried to break free from its rusty chains.

_“You gotta be strong now, son.”_

_The gentle fingers that used to caress his aches so tenderly were replaced by a firm hand on his shoulder..._

“H?” Lukas asked, but his own voice sounded far away and strange to his ears.

_“Mommy is dead, Lukas.”_

“Heroin.”

“Like...,” Lukas swallowed. “Like h-he did with Tommy and Tracey?”

“Yeah.”

_“Mommy is dead. She won’t come back.”_

“Opiates weren’t her poison. She took acid, I– I mean LSD, and...and benzos like... like Lorazepam... A-and Diazepam. Valium. But never heroin.” Philip shook his head. “Never heroin.”

_“Now, now, boy. Men don’t cry. Get a grip of yourself.”_

“She was just getting better...” Philip breathed, averting his gaze and looking down at the crisp white hospital sheets.

Lukas couldn’t take it any longer. A wave of tears overcame him, and they streamed from his eyes. The startlingly hot droplets rolled down his cheeks, dripped from the point of his chin, and landed on top of his hurting chest. They burned on his skin like molten lava.

Lukas sat up arduously, groaning and sobbing, but he didn’t care that it hurt.

“Lukas?”

He ignored Philip’s bewildered and worried expression, and quickly arranged himself at the edge of his bed to pull Philip into his arms. Holding him tight, he buried his face in Philip’s shoulder, his burning tears soaking through Philip’s dark t-shirt within seconds.

“I’m so sorry,” Lukas sobbed, his words muffled against the wet fabric.

Instinctively, Philip tightened their embrace. Lukas’s heart thumped steadily against his chest, vital and present, accompanied by the beeping sounds of his heart monitor. It was the very thing Philip needed, the thing he had been craving for the last few hours and days.

He’s well. He’s alive.

“It’s okay. It’s alright,” Philip whispered softly, nuzzling his cheek against fair curls. Then he gently began to stroke Lukas’s back. “It’s alright.”

“What’s alright? Nothing is alright,” Lukas cried. How could he still worry about others in a situation like this? How could he comfort Lukas when his own grief was so great...? Philip was the one who needed comfort.

“You... you don’t need to be cool now, Philip.”

Philip sighed. Sometimes, he almost envied Lukas for being able to let his tears fall wherever and whenever he wanted, without hesitation...

He gently detached himself from their embrace to regard Lukas’s face. Lukas’s blue eyes were red and puffy, his nose runny, his flaxen hair greasy and tangled. He looked exhausted, shattered, and so, so vulnerable.

Philip found him beautiful...

Another line of tears spilled down his reddened cheeks, and Philip tenderly wiped them away.

Lukas sniffed and peeked at him from behind the thick crescent of dark lashes, looking like the lonely little boy he used to be. The lonely little boy who had just lost his mother...

It was soothing – but in a twisted way – that they now shared another sad connection.

“Will the pain ever go away?” Philip asked after a while, his voice small but hopeful.

“No,” Lukas breathed and placed his hand on Philip’s warm chest. “Never.”

Philip’s heartbeat pulsed through his fingertips, quick and urgent. Lukas withdrew his hand and curled his fingers over his palm, protecting the ghost of the sweet rhythm that still made his skin tingle.

“Time will make it easier, though,” he whispered. “It’s a promise.”

Silent tears rolled down Lukas’s cheek, but his gaze was warm and intimate as he gently brushed his knuckles along Philip’s neck, whose irides looked like atmospheric russet-brown storm clouds captured in glass cages.

It made Lukas’s heart hurt. He missed the maelstrom of Philip’s usually so warm chocolate brown – the swirl of warm earth tones, the spark of life twinkling in his doe-like eyes...

He knew that he needed to give Philip time to get better. And that one day, he’d see these lovely eyes again. Eyes that made his heart skip a beat, that made his stomach tingle as if butterflies had taken residence in it... Eyes, that made his pale skin glow with just a simple gaze...

For a second, Lukas was glad when Philip’s eyes fluttered closed, hiding the pain and sadness behind his long, pitch-black lashes which rested upon the deep shadows on his cheeks.

“It’s a promise,” Lukas repeated, his lips close to Philip’s ear. Pale knuckles stroked Philip’s slender neck, wandering upwards to brush away shaggy chestnut curls. Soft lips touched Philip’s temple, his eyelids, the little crease on his forehead, the tip of his nose, both cheeks and finally his lips.

Philip allowed himself to forget, just for a second. He allowed himself to relax.

And he allowed himself to feel.

Soft. Warm. Salty.

Lukas.

° ° °

The funeral went by in a blur. Philip felt nothing but emptiness as his mother’s urn was lowered into the ground. Everything seemed so unreal, so surreal, and so grotesque that his mind wouldn’t really accept it.

How were his mother’s cremated remains supposed to fit in something so tiny? All those bone shards, and fragments, and broken teeth that once were a fragile body; all those warm hugs, and radiating smiles, and sweetly whispered I love yous – reduced to a small pile of ashes.

How was he supposed to understand such a terrible fate, much less accept it?

Lukas squeezed his hand reassuringly, his quiet sobs intermingling with those of Philip’s foster parents.

Once again, Philip envied him. He envied all of them. Because once again, his tears refused to fall. And once again, he felt broken beyond repair...

Unable to swallow the lump in his throat, Philip silently prayed for this nightmare to end...

° ° °

In the days following the funeral, Philip found himself reliving the recent events again and again – breath by painful breath. Every time the cacophony of sadness and insanity invaded his head, he felt so overwhelmed and paralyzed that he was unable to move, unable to focus or think clearly, unable to sleep, unable to eat. He failed to take care of himself, although that had always been his strength.

But every time Philip fell down, Helen, Gabe, and Lukas were there to help him up – with warm hugs, reassuring words, and (in Lukas‘s case) gentle kisses.

It took a lot of patience on the part of his foster parents and his boyfriend , but in the end, Philip finally realized that he wasn’t alone.

He was cared for.

He was loved.

And just because his mother was gone, didn’t mean she didn’t love him anymore. She would always be one of the most important parts of the crazy, misshapen thing that was Philip’s life.

Lukas had kept his promise. With some time, they’d found their way of healing that helped them to move on with their lives. The boys preferred to spend their free time together alone, taking long walks and hikes along the idyllic east shore of the Hudson River between the villages of Tivoli and Barrytown.

Spending time in nature was balm for their souls . They hunted small frogs, and salamanders, and fireflies, catching them with bare hands, laughing and smiling. They crisscrossed through the trees and pastures, enjoying multitudes of late summer flowers. Pale blue and yellow colors living in crowds like fluffy clouds, followed by a vividly purple ocean of asters and wild hortensias – not that any of the boys actually knew the flower names...

However, the delicate blossoms that waved with the gentle breath of the afternoon breeze reminded Philip of his mother. He loved to watch them dance in the wind through the viewfinder of his camera.

His favorite subject for photographs was Lukas, though. Philip liked to capture him as often as possible – always afraid of losing or forgetting one of these precious, happy moments they got to share...

They were outside again, surrounded by a lush green field of flowers under a brilliant blue sky. The sun kissed Lukas’s hair , dancing on the fair curls in a warm honey-gold shimmer. Lukas’s smile was even more dazzling, especially as his expression lit up at the sight of his boyfriend.

“Philip!”

Philip raised his camera and looked through the lens, but Lukas was suddenly gone.

“Lukas?” Confused, he looked around, but Lukas was nowhere to be found.

“Philip!” a voice called him again.

It wasn’t Lukas’s voice. Nor was it one of Philip’s foster parents, or one of their teachers or classmates. It was a voice he thought he’d never hear again.

“Mom?”

“Philip!” Anne called again, voicing the name of her beloved child as gently as a soft breeze in the canopies, and as sweetly as the lullaby of a songbird. “Philip!”

Philip turned around and saw her – beautiful and vibrant, smiling one of the happiest smiles Philip had ever seen on her lips, and yet it was full of longing. Her gaze was soft, so soft and tender, and her hair was a wild tumble of dark, bushy curls, catching the sun and creating an untidy halo around her small face. She wore a flowing dress with floral print. The fabric looked smooth and comfortable. A friendly, pale yellow. It was Philip’s favorite. He’d always loved to see her in that dress. It suited her so well, so incredibly well...

“Mom...” Philip choked out, trying to fight back the unshed tears that pushed behind his eyes. But soon, tears blurred his vision, rolling down his cheeks without him noticing.

“Come here, baby. Come here,“ Anne called gently.

Absentmindedly, Philip dropped his camera onto the soft grass and started to run towards his mother. “Mom!”

Anne spread her arms and enfolded her child in a warm embrace.

They held each other for what felt like forever and just a second at the same time.

“I miss you so much,” Philip sobbed into her hair. She rocked him gently as she stroked his back to calm him down.

“I know, baby, I know,” she cooed. She let her fingers run through his hair, again and again. After a while, she raised her head to look at him with a sad smile on her face. “I’m sorry, Philip. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to leave you. I never wanted to put you through all of this.”

“It’s okay, mom. It’s fine.”

“No. It’s not. It’s not fine. I’ve failed you, Philip,” she said in earnest as she cupped her son’s cheek to wipe away his tears. “I’ve failed you over and over again. And now I can’t even fix my mistakes.”

“Mom... That’s not true. You...”

“It is true, Philip,” she whispered, squeezing Philip’s neck gently.

“But you’re here, mom. You can still fix things now, right?” he asked, and his voice was so full of hope that it broke Anne’s heart.

“Oh, baby...” she sighed. “I can’t stay. You know I have to go.”

“No.” Philip shook his head, looking distressed. “No, mom. Please...” More tears dripped from his eyes, each droplet like a small glass bead that sparkled in the late afternoon sun.

“I love you, Philip,” Anne breathed. “You’ll be fine.”

“No... Mom...Don’t go. Don’t leave me...,” he begged.

“You’ll be fine, sweetie. Even without me.”

“Mom... Please...”

“You’ll be fine, Philip. You’ll be fine.”

“Mom!”

“I think it’s gonna rain soon,” Lukas’s voice stated, and suddenly, Philip’s arms were empty again. He still felt the residue of warmth, still sensed the faint smell of smoke and vanilla...

But she was gone.

She was gone again.

He looked at Lukas, whose eyes were glued to the overcast sky. A few single raindrops fell, intermingling with the tears still streaming down Philip’s face.

Then, the wind changed and scattered the blurry fog that hung over his eyes, and a multitude of sparks burst in the haze of Philip’s consciousness.

“...lip!” A voice called him once again. “Philip! Wake up, Philip.”

No. Not just a voice.

Lukas.

“Hmm...”

“You were crying in your sleep,” Lukas whispered worriedly. “You’re still crying.” He snuggled closer against him and draped his arm around Philip’s waist, hugging him close.

It took Philip a second to come back to his senses.

He was at Helen and Gabe’s.

At home.

In his room. In his bed. With Lukas.

Outside his open window, the freshly washed sky had changed from a cold, dark gray to warm hues of purple, orange and red. The night was fading, and the air was fresh and fragrant, with hints of hibiscus and clean earth moving on the gentle breeze. The soft wind cooled his wet cheeks.

“Nightmare?” Lukas asked softly. His warm hands rubbed gentle circles on Philip’s back.

“No.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Philip nodded before he buried his face in the crook of Lukas’s neck and gave vent to his feelings.

Finally.

Heavy sobs racked his slender body, and Philip wept what felt like an endless stream of tears.

But it felt good, it was such a relief...

So he cried, and cried, and cried.

Lukas held him tight, and rocked him back and forth as he whispered soft, reassuring words in his ear. “You’ll be fine, Philip. Everything’s alright.”

So soothing and calming.

“You’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” Philip croaked and moved his head back to look at Lukas. Fresh tears glistened in his lashes, but the smile on his face was genuine.

He was ready to move on.

He was ready to let her go.

“I’ll be fine.”


End file.
